


A Controlled Substance

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Addiction, F/M, Het, Sex, dark!Clara, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara is addicted. She's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Controlled Substance

He feeds her addiction with glances and with words. Only rarely are there touches, now that he seems so painfully aware of proximity. (She remembers when he wasn't, of course, but that seems so very long ago.)

Clara is only too eager to take what he offers -- she doesn't mind being addicted, just as long as he needs her more than she needs him. He'd do anything to keep her, seems to live in fear of her changing her mind again and walking out for good. She likes the raw need that draws him to her. She likes to feel wanted.

The biggest hits come when he almost says too much, or when he looks at her too long for it to be innocent. When it's obvious that he wants her, when she sees cracks in the façade of indifference to her appearance.

Most days it's enough, and at night Clara lies in her bed rerunning the day's events with a hand between her legs. She can close her eyes and see him, hear him, feel him. 

Tonight though she lies frustrated, bored of replays and repeats. Been there, done that, nothing new to report. She needs a new and bigger hit, something that will last.

She's sure he won't deny her if she asks, so she rises naked from her bed and pulls her pink satin robe closed around her body. She leaves her room, finds his and knocks quietly and the more loudly so that he can't pretend he hasn't heard.

The door opens and she inspects his appearance. Bare feet, shirt untucked, the slightest flush to his skin. Clara can guess what he was doing and the idea pleases her. She's not the only addict on the TARDIS.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, and she slips past him into the room without a word. His concern dissipates when he sees the look in her eyes. He stands uncomfortable before her, always too scared to make the first move. (It's ridiculous, she thinks, given all the monsters he chases off.)

She had intended to let her robe drop dramatically to the floor, but when it actually comes to it she finds herself fumbling with the half-knot and blushing heat. She pushes past embarrassment and manages to untie it, letting it fall to pool around her feet. His gaze sweeps across her, head to toe and back again, and she steps towards him with the air cool on her skin. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he says, as though obligated to remind her. He doesn't sound particularly bothered, doesn't stop staring at her as he reminds her of her other attachments. 

“He's not here,” she says, as though another drug would suffice. 

She can tell that the Doctor is desperate for her, but she also knows that she has to move first. He can't drop his shaky claim to respectability until she makes him abandon the pretence. She kisses him the way she does in dreams, waits for him to respond before pushing him back onto the bed. 

She settles herself above him, straddling his body and unbuttoning his shirt. She doesn't want to wait for her prize, wriggles and shifts until she feels his erection pressing against her in response. She helps him discard his shirt, moves her attention to unfastening his trousers. 

He lies pale and thin beneath her, nowhere near as fragile as he looks. He moves his hands to her waist, whispering her name and gazing up at her with something like awe. 

She reaches between their bodies, pauses with his cock in her hand. 

“Am I the first?” she asks. “For this body, am I the first?”

He seems surprised by the question, as though he hadn't expected her possessive streak. After a moment he nods and Clara smiles, content, and lowers herself onto him. 

His eyes close, and that annoys her so she stays defiantly still until he opens them again to meet her gaze. He seems about to say something, but whatever it is dies on his lips as she begins to move above him. She knows she's good, and she has practised this so many times in her imagination that it doesn't quite seem new. 

She doesn't know what the Doctor has imagined, but she's determined to live up to whatever fantasy he's invented. She moves faster, arches her back and moans loudly. It's not just for effect, she's halfway there from the sheer thrill of making her thoughts into reality. She tightens a few muscles experimentally and his reaction is rewarding. He holds her hips to encourage or control, and she's not having that so she moves his hands to her breasts and presses into his open palms. 

She moves suddenly, pulls him over until he's above her, panting and thrusting as she calls his name-that-isn't. She starts whispering obscenities, words that seem to shock him even as he responds with eager movements. She runs her hands across his back, digs her fingernails into his skin. 

She bites his shoulder when she comes, gives a loud and wordless cry. It might not be the best, but it's good and she's not complaining. He follows her soon after, her name on his lips. 

Clara waits for him to move away, gives a little sigh as he slips from her body. She stretches against the mattress and plans her next move. She doesn't intend to stay, doesn't want to make any promises. She slides from the bed as he reaches for her, picking her robe from the floor and dressing with her back to him. 

She feels good, and she probably has enough material now for weeks of fun on her own.

“Clara,” he calls as she reaches the door. 

“I've got a boyfriend,” she says, presenting her excuse. She glances back with the sad sort of smile he hates, and says “I don't think we should do that again.” She's fairly sure they will, though, next time she needs more than words and glances. That's what they say about addiction, that after a while whatever you have isn't enough.

She can stop any time, she's certain. It's just that she doesn't want to.


End file.
